


Renegotiating Boundaries

by Sheepnamedpig



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha instincts, Begging, Blowjobs, Light Bondage, Loss of Control, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Trust Issues, and lack thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles won't beg. Derek works out some of his trust issues. There is a blowjob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renegotiating Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd

“I'm not going to beg for it, you know," Stiles says, calmly like he's asking Derek to pass the potatoes.

Derek wants him to, though. Wants him to beg and yield and break apart. He snarls and inches forward on his knees, careful of where Stiles' arms are restrained over his head. His cock bobs barely an inch above Stiles' mouth, dripping precome onto his lips and chin. All Stiles would have to do to suck on it is lift his head off the goddamn pillow.

“If you're waiting for me to beg, you might as well untie me so I can go do my homework,” Stiles taunts. Derek wants to not believe him, but he can tell that Stiles is serious about not giving in, in spite of his flushed skin, dilated eyes, and leaking cock. “Otherwise, you might as well just give it to me.”

The thing is, Derek wants to give in. He was a Beta being raised to act like a human for a hell of a lot longer than he's been an Alpha leaning on his werewolf instincts, and in many ways, avoiding confrontations is his first and most reliable instinct. So it's not like he absolutely _has_ to have Stiles bend to him. But his Alpha instincts, the ones that have hijacked his brain and led him into making all kinds of stupid decisions, demand that Stiles submit even though he _knows_ that he has a better chance at winning the lottery and being struck by a meteorite within five minutes of each other.

His eyes flare red and he growls down at Stiles, fangs pricking his lips. “Beg,” he commands.

Stiles grins. “Nope.”

“ _Beg._ ”

“You wish, honey,” Stiles lisps mockingly.

The shift sweeps over Derek and he feels a sweeping sense of shame and humiliation. He's never, _never_ lost control since-- Since. Especially not in front of Stiles, who is too human to survive the potential fallout. But his Alpha instincts are pushing him on, pushing him into making another stupid decision to spend the rest of his life regretting.

He hunches down over Stiles' head, clawed fingers digging into the pillow to either side of Stiles' head and tearing into the cloth and foam.

“ _You will beg,_ ” he growls, infusing it with as much Alpha dominance as he knows how to. It would be enough to make any wolf in his pack cower away without question, and it's been known to make the humans back down as well, even Lydia, who takes shit from no one, supernatural or otherwise.

All Stiles does is smirk and moan and rut against the air.

“You wish,” Stiles repeats flippantly. “If I'm gonna suck your dick, it'll be because you asked _nicely._ ”

Derek sees red and roars in instantaneous fury, but he manages to slam his hands down on the shelving behind Stiles' pillow, carving deep gouges into the cheap wood. Theoretically, he's aware that he's quickly losing control of himself, that his Alpha instincts are going insane and demanding that he discipline Stiles, use brute force to make him submit, regardless of his human vulnerability. He's scant inches from ripping open Stiles' chest from throat to navel, love and mate be damned. He _knows_ these things, knows that he should be sprinting away from Stiles as fast as his legs can take him, but the knowledge is overpowered by his rampaging desire to conquer and possess Stiles and break him of his willfulness. Only the remnants of his Beta instincts and the calm, steady thump of Stiles' heartbeat hold him back from falling into the abyss of the feral state.

Derek digs his fingers into the wood, holding on for dear life as he focuses on the sound of Stiles' heart, letting each double beat reverberate through his head, anchoring him enough to give him some leverage as he fights down the animal rage and bloodlust.

When he finally comes back to himself, Stiles is looking up at him with a close-lipped smile and pupils blown wide enough that the brown corona of his irises is barely visible.

He really doesn't know how Stiles does it. He knows the why of it, of course; Stiles will tell the 'why' to anyone who asks the right question, but the 'how' of it is still very much a mystery. The best that Derek has been able to come up with is that Stiles is an adrenaline junkie both in and out of bed.

After a few deep, measured breaths, he's able to pull the transformation back into himself and he's left knuckles-deep in splintered wood. Which, fuck, is going to make Stiles' dad _the Sheriff_ instantly suspicious when he sees it.

The pillow is shredded where Derek's claws dug into them, but he splays his hands flat over the tears as a visual and physical reminder of what he's capable of and looks Stiles in the eye.

“You have to beg,” he explains, “You-”

“You beg!” Stiles crows childishly.

Derek's hands curl into fists without his permission. Thankfully, his nails stay blunt. He really doesn't want to have to deal with the mortification of losing his shit twice in ten minutes.

“The Alpha doesn't beg,” he says, trying for a reasonable tone of voice. “It goes agai-”

“The Alpha begs if he wants Stiles to suck his dick,” Stiles interrupts again.

“You're not _listening,_ ” Derek snaps. “It goes against my instincts to-”

“Dude, you're not actually an animal,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “You know I only make with the dog jokes because I care, right? Not because I actually think you're all dogs.”

And fuck if Stiles hasn't got him there.

“If I followed my instincts as often as you do yours,” Stiles adds, “my dad would probably have arrested me for public indecency like, a thousand times by now.” He thrusts his hips and the smell of his precome washes over Derek.

Derek wants to say that it's different for werewolves, but it isn't. Not really. Sure, being a werewolf brings his instincts closer to the surface, and the full moon brings them closer still, but they _are_ just instincts. Which is technically what he's spent hours upon hours trying to teach his pack. In some way, it just figures that he'd have that pointed out to him by the kid who managed to teach the dumbest werewolf alive how to rein in his new instincts in the space of an afternoon. Derek sags, his still-leaking cock resting on Stiles' chin.

“Beg,” Stiles says. The heat of his breath on the head of Derek's dick makes him shiver.

Not for the first time, he wishes he was still a Beta. If he was, he could just roll his eyes and say 'Please suck my dick' in a fond deadpan. But he's not, so he has to fight against his Alpha instincts just to get a strangled “Please” out.

“Please what?” Stiles asks, his lips brushing the underside of the head.

Derek forces his body to relax. “Please suck my dick,” he grunts between gritted teeth.

Stiles lips the head of Derek's dick into his mouth and gives it a hard suck, the tip of his tongue prodding at the opening. Derek moans, his head dipping down at the sensation. And then Stiles' mouth is gone.

Derek opens his eyes – when had he closed them? - and Stiles is smiling up at him like it's his birthday. He nudges his hips forward and his cock bumps over Stiles' mouth. “More,” he insists.

“More what?” Stiles says expectantly.

“More, please,” Derek breathes. Stiles' face lights up. 

“Good boy,” he coos, and before Derek can snap a halfhearted reprimand, he begins tonguing at the shaft of Derek's cock, letting his teeth scrape just so.

Derek really does love Stiles' mouth. His lips are pink and soft and shaped like no other mouth Derek has seen in his life. They stretch wide around Derek's dick or Derek's fingers or even Derek's toes, on occasion, and he would probably admit under pain of torture that he would be fine with never fucking Stiles' ass ever again as long as he could still have Stiles' mouth. He just loves it that much.

Stiles pulls off again after a minute, looking up with a pleased and satisfied expression, like he's the one getting his rocks off rather than Derek.

“Well? What do you want?” Stiles prompts.

“I want your mouth on my cock,” Derek says. The words are coming easier now that his instincts are giving way to pleasure and the knowledge that he's pleasing Stiles with whatever it is he's doing.

Stiles presses his lips against the tip of Derek's dick and smirks teasingly.

“I want to put my dick in your mouth,” Derek clarifies. Stiles crooks an eyebrow. “Please,” he adds.

Apparently Stiles feels he's gotten his point across, because he goes down on Derek in earnest, tonguing the shaft as he takes Derek's cock into his mouth and bobs his head. At some point, he pulls on the rope holding his wrists together to undo the knot and takes Derek's hips in his hands, moving them to his liking and easing the strain on his own neck. Derek urges him on with gentle touches and an endless well of 'please's that seem to have sprung up from nowhere. Only when Derek is on the verge of coming does he give up control of the pace, letting Derek fuck his mouth until he spills down Stiles' throat.

Derek feels shaken and stirred and settled for the first time since-- Since. He doesn't quite know what happened, or how it happened, or how much Stiles knows about what happened, but he feels at ease with himself, like all the strangely-shaped pieces of himself have been put in their proper places, fitting together in a way that makes him feel whole again. He flops down at Stiles' side and promptly sneezes in Stiles' ear from the particles of cloth and foam that drift into the air from where Derek shredded the pillow.

“Oh, _gross_. Dude,” Stiles bitches, swiping at the side of his head. Derek obligingly swaps out the shredded pillow for a new one and they settle back down, Derek on his side, letting his fingers sift through Stiles' treasure trail as he relaxes into the afterglow. Stiles is still hard, probably painfully so, but he seems content to do nothing about it even as another drop of precome drips out onto his belly. The smell of it makes Derek's mouth water and he licks his lips.

Stiles gives his dick a lazy tug and sits up, pulling his legs indian style and putting his hands on Derek's side and thigh like he's going to play Derek like a piano.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“Your cock,” Derek says, eyes going straight to the anatomical feature in question.

“Yeah? Where do you want it? Here--” Stiles reaches over to brush his fingers along the curve of Derek's lower lip. “--or here?” His other hand reaches over Derek's hip to smooth his palm over the cleft of Derek's ass.

Derek twitches. Strangely, it hadn't even occurred to him to catch for Stiles, which he puts down to being under the influence of the Alpha part of himself, which is bristling at the mere suggestion. Now that he thinks about it, he wants it, wants Stiles' fingers and dick and maybe even his mouth, if he's lucky. Though maybe he doesn't need luck. Maybe all he needs to do is _ask_.

Somehow, that's a revelation, the idea that Stiles will give him something if he just asks for it. It shouldn't be, though, which is the part that makes Derek feel pretty stupid.

Still, it's a big step to take, and Derek has rather handily proven that he's not in full control of himself. He very nearly hurt Stiles once tonight, and even though he's feeling better about his control since Stiles did—whatever, he's not going to risk another loss of control just because he wants to get fucked. He'll focus on getting his instincts securely in line, maybe even ask Stiles to help him with it, and then they'll revisit that idea. Until then,

“I want it in my mouth,” he says.

Stiles grins. “Well my dick really wants to be in your mouth,” he says, splaying his legs for Derek to crawl between. His hands settle on Derek's cheek and nape and Derek allows them to guide him in until his lips are pressed against the base of Stiles' cock, his balls soft and warm against Derek's chin.

“Since you did such an awesome job earlier,” Stiles says, “I'm not going to make you beg or ask for anything. Yeah, I know, bask in my magnanimous generosity. So go to town, dude. Whatever you like.” His hands relax their grip on Derek until they're cradling rather than pulling. Derek breathes his scent in, the sweat and soap and dried precome and damp musk, and presses a kiss to the smooth stretch of skin where Stiles' cock connects to the scrotum and thinks, _Thank you._

Stiles' fingers card through Derek's hair. _You're welcome_.

**Author's Note:**

> Derp. It's my headcanon that Derek sucks hardcore at being an Alpha because he's still a Beta at heart. It's also my headcanon that Stiles has a spookily accurate intuition for all things everything.


End file.
